


Grey

by RebelDrFerguson



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice, Justice League (2017)
Genre: Addictions, Alfred Background, Angst, Bruce loves Alfred, DCEU - Freeform, Drug Abuse, F/M, Fighting, Frottage, M/M, Medication, Mentions of OCD, Mentions of PTSD, Mild Sexual Content, References to Depression, Swearing, Warning This Content May Trigger Sensitive Readers You Have Been Warned, heart to heart talks, worried!bruce
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-21
Updated: 2018-04-21
Packaged: 2019-04-26 01:04:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14390904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RebelDrFerguson/pseuds/RebelDrFerguson
Summary: Everyone has a bad day. Even Alfred.





	Grey

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: ANGST.   
> Songs: Keep Myself Awake - Black Lab

He never wakes up to the feeling of a good night's rest.

 

It had been a very long time since he’d been able to sleep for more than a few hours at all. 

 

He rarely woke to soft bird song or blinding sunlight, because he was awake at the crack of dawn, dressing before the birds even awoke themselves. 

 

He’s always awake before his alarm goes off and before the radio starts playing whatever seemed to hit the top of the charts. One time in his life he loved jazz, he even enjoyed a few of the more famous pop bands that came out. But these days they all blended into the same buzzing drone and he couldn’t stand cheesy heart-wrenching love songs. 

 

Today just happened to be one of those days. 

 

One of those days in which he’d spent the night before shaking, sweating, screaming himself hoarse, he’d jerk awake only to stumble for the tiny white tiled bathroom to vomit or if he was unlucky like today, to throw himself over the side of the bed for the bucket he’d been forced to keep to hand. 

 

He never woke to the smell of bacon frying. Just the haunting and the cloying smell of blood even if there was none to be seen. 

  
  


* * *

 

 

He was late, but who cared? Lucius did more work than he did these days. 

 

Bruce showers, pulls on a suit, takes ten minutes to pick a tie, plays with his phone and sits at the breakfast table like he does every morning. 

 

Although, today was one of those days. One of the days where when he sits there’s no food on the table yet. 

 

There’s no sign of Alfred. 

 

It’s only eight fifteen, though Alfred was usually in by now. Bruce should have been at the office by now, he had a meeting at nine. But a bottle of wine, a broken hand and nightmares had left him trailing around again. 

 

He sighs and wonders if it could ever really end. Staring at the empty phone screen he watches as the next ten minutes pass in complete silence, save for the hum of the fridge.

 

Standing he makes for the coffee machine, something to keep his mind off the night before. 

 

As he takes his first sip he looks to the space on the wall where the clock had once hung. Alfred had taken it down not long after the batteries ran out. It wasn’t broken, in fact, it was now hung in the office even though Bruce had a digital one on the desk. 

 

Alfred just didn't like it because of the noise. 

 

The constant tick got to him in a way Bruce knew he couldn’t understand, he wondered if that’s why the Grandfather clock had never worked either...not after his parents died. 

 

As he let himself think about it, they didn’t have a ticking clock anywhere in the lake house in which Alfred would reside. Not that he stayed here anymore. 

 

Stepping up to the window Bruce watches the lake steam in the sunlight, he watches the ducks floating on the edge. He watches the trailer in the distance and the fact that the curtain had yet to be drawn. 

 

He looks at his watch and sighs. 

 

One of those days.

  
  


* * *

 

 

His hands are shaking as he sits on the bed half dressed.

 

He’s late. Alfred hates being late. But what use was time anymore but for routine. There was no Thomas to see to before he left for work, there was no Martha to fuss over while she juggled paperwork, a child and staff.

 

There was no little boy that hid behind his legs anymore, no tears, no tantrums, no stains, well…

 

But there was a man. There was a ten-year-old boy trapped in a forty-year-old body, a boy that had anger issues, nightmares just the same. A boy who’d clung to him crying.

 

A greying billionaire who dressed up like a giant bat and threw himself off buildings.

 

His stomach churned. He was tired. Hell, when wasn't he tired? 

 

Somehow he found his feet, even if it felt as if someone was pushing down on his shoulders whispering in his ear that he looked better broken and crying on his knees. 

 

His back was still straight even if felt like it should be broken in fifty different ways. There was a mug on the counter, half empty and filled with cold coffee. He stares at it as if it’s just committed a crime. His trailer was spotless. It had always been the same. 

 

Pouring out the coffee, he washes out the cup, washes down the sink, dries the cup and places it back in line on the hooks with the other five above the kettle. All grey. 

 

With a sigh, he neatly folds the towel and hangs it back on the rail. Turning he lets his gaze fall on the half empty bottle of scotch, the tumbler, empty syringe and tourniquet on the coffee table. 

 

It looks so frighteningly out of place and the shame that floods over him makes him wobble on his feet.

 

He feels panic bubble up and bites it back down. Bruce hardly ever entered the trailer, he didn’t know back then and he wouldn't know now. 

 

It takes time to reach the table, his limbs feel as if he’s swimming through syrup. It takes one swipe of his arm and the bin, a bottle top screwed back on and a drawer to be shut before he can listen to anything over the heartbeat in his ears. 

 

Alfred pauses to wipe his glasses, sets out to take a shower and properly dress when he feels grease in hair. That just wouldn’t do. 

 

By the time he’s tying his boots he’s over an hour late and he’s not sure what to say. 

  
  


* * *

 

  
  


It’s nine thirty and Bruce is blocking calls. His phone is left on silent and he’s pacing the floor. He recalled the last five times this happened. But it had, according to his father and unbeknown to Martha, happened many more times before. 

 

What is it this time? Pills?

 

He can never be sure. He’d been given the cold shoulder the last time he tried to pry and now he was growing too concerned to not say a word. 

 

He recalled witnessing the worst. Well, the worst since his parents had died. Jason had never accepted the no guns rule. He’d once taken a weapon from a thug and hidden it in his room. 

 

The boy had snuck into the woods thinking he was safe from question to play target practice with all the confiscated ammo he’d pilfered from Bruce’s stash. 

 

Bruce wished he’d found the tree and the gun before the gala. 

 

He wished he’d told Jason the real reason Alfred had banned guns. But too late was the cry, too late was the warning when Dick said Jason had wandered off. 

 

Bruce had been too late to catch up with Alfred who was hunting the teen out in the woods. 

 

He was too late to stop Jason’s tears when Alfred shouted, struck out and crumpled to his knees. 

 

He still thanked the gods the Butler had wicked reflexes but he cursed whichever man had ever thought firearms should be legal in this country. 

 

A mere scratch on his upper arm, but it wasn't that which had left the mark. 

 

Alfred never raised his voice in anger, so when he found Jason in tears again later after Dick had explained why Alfred had unintentionally lashed out, Bruce swore to remind every man who stepped on these grounds that firearms were banned and the only man to have one would be the one and the same who hated them just as much a he. 

 

He knew the gun in Alfred’s holster hadn’t moved in years but was cleaned and cared for every single day, just like a baby in a way, just like he’d been trained.

  
  


* * *

 

 

He’s standing by the sink again leaning on the counter, staring at the floor with a look of hate, a cup of tea steaming on the side and a pill bottle in hand.

 

It rolls forward and back between his fingers. A trick he’d never quite realised he'd learnt. The tablets rattle loudly in the small space, but it helps him think. 

 

Why? He’s never sure. 

 

Everything feels damp and dead, everything feels too quiet and sad. Everything feels annoying and he knows he’ll never calm down until he takes the damn things and stops hearing Thomas’s voice. 

 

_ ‘They’re for your own good, Alf, I’m not making up a condition, you know what this is, you know just as well as me, you know what you need’ _

 

Did he? 

 

With a sigh he finds he can’t find the energy to leave the trailer yet, it was grey and dark in the room, the curtains still drawn to keep the morning sun away yet tiny splinters of light cast across the cream carpet as if to mock him.

 

Setting the pill bottle aside he picks up the tea and forces himself to take the time to breathe. He’d be no use to Master Wayne in a bad mood, he’d be no use to the world at all if he didn’t school himself like this nearly every morning. 

 

What good was a soldier who lost his composure? 

  
  


* * *

 

  
  


It’s approaching half ten now and Bruce has lost his appetite, from worry. 

 

When he was young, Alfred was his rock, he was his everything for a long time. He was his sword and he was the shield, he was the Batman for a young Bruce Wayne and had always been the real reason Gotham had one for their needs. 

 

He loved the man like a father some days. Loved him far more than that of others. 

 

The relationship was strange and honestly, it was comforting in a way. 

 

The house phone rings, he lets it ring off. He’s surprised it’s not Lucius but Diana. 

 

_ “I can hear you thinking from Paris, Bruce, call me, now”  _

 

He looks at the answering machine. Hates the fact that Diana had grown too used to his brooding that when he didn’t reply to a message she knew things were bad. Admittedly, he never had his phone out of his hand, even in a meeting or on a rooftop he would reply. 

 

He took a second to consider whether his phone use was a bad thing before it was swept away again in the idea that Alfred was hurting. Everyone had bad days. Alfred wasn’t an exception. 

 

Not with his history.

 

Between them, they had stories for days. Tales of blood, heartbreak and grief he knew somewhere in between those stories sat a few precious moments, a few golden days where things had actually gone right, like when he got his first car for his seventeenth birthday, Dick getting an A on a test. Bruce nailing a very tricky business deal that had them high on champagne. And Alfred turning 50 then 65.

 

He hated to think that as much as he’d watched Dick and Jason grow and Alfred grow old that he had also lost count of the women in his bed, the women that walked in and out of his life like whispers in the dark. That he had no blood family left in a place he should honestly call home. 

 

Alfred wanted him to have a family. He wanted Bruce to face that fear and truly stare danger in the face, stare down the one thing he hated the idea of again. 

 

But he hated the idea of losing them just for losing’s sake. 

 

He looks up from the marble floor, his eyes draw straight back to the trailer door. 

 

“Come on Alfred...like you said, one step at a time.” He sighs. 

  
  


* * *

 

 

He’s pocketed the bottle now. He still hasn’t taken the damn things and he knows he’ll pay for it later. 

 

But suddenly he has to clean. Something about the bedsheets and the bucket is annoying to hell and they need sorting before he can even think to leave through the trailer door. 

 

When he’s setting the soap scented bucket back beside the neat and freshly made bed, he sighs and runs his hand through his hair again. 

 

He’s getting flashbacks of the night before, the newsreel, the sound of gunfire, the dead bodies, the memories, the tears, the booze and the burn, the licking flames of paper burning on a smouldering fire pit. 

 

His fingers find the scars on his arm under the expensive cotton shirt. He could find them in the dark. He could probably count every single one if he let himself. 

 

It would easily be two figures that he knew. That is something he knew. 

 

He barely stops himself tossing the lamp at the wall when he thinks that he can count the times Bruce has smiled on one single hand, but not the number of times he’s counted bodies. 

 

_ ‘You need to talk to me’  _

 

“No”

 

_ ‘You need to talk to somebody Alfred…’ _

 

“NO!”

 

His hand connects with the plywood and punches through, hits a bar and he winces, hisses in pain but he smiles a second later. 

 

Smiles in vain. Smiles because he’s still fighting off the insanity. 

  
  


* * *

 

 

Lucius is on the house phone now. He sounds worried. Bruce wasn’t answering the phone. 

 

His secretary phones after that. She’s threatening to come down to the house if he doesn’t phone her. 

 

Diana phones again but this time it’s like she can mind read and it’s genuinely scary. 

 

_ “We all have bad days Bruce...you both know where I am if you need me...don’t try to tell yourself you don’t” _

 

What can Diana give them he wonders before he’s warmed by the thought of her laughter, he’s warmed by the fact she knew just what to talk about, she knew how to cook, how to distract, she knew what not to ask, she knew just what would make Alfred focus. 

 

She knew just how to let Bruce fight it out, she knew just how to push to make him feel better in too many ways. 

 

He’s about to turn and reach for the phone when it rings again. 

 

It’s the man he was supposed to meet at one o’clock that afternoon. Saying something about “he’ll see him Wednesday instead and he hopes that the family situation Lucius mentioned isn’t anything serious”.

 

The word freezes him to the spot. 

 

What family...what family has he got? His sons had either run or died, his parents were long gone into the ground and now he was wondering each day he woke would the man he'd seen every day since he was born still be there when he woke up? 

 

Something sparks in his chest and the mobile is back in his hand. He’s dialling and praying.

 

Praying for the first time since Jason died, that he could be the voice of reason instead.

 

* * *

 

 

He’s cleaning for no reason now, wiping the surface tops, the windows, the drawers, his spare shoes, brushing down suit jackets in the wardrobe. 

 

He should really leave. Bruce was waiting. 

 

No, he should be at work. It was eleven, he had a meeting to attend and someone to meet for lunch. 

 

But the silence that had been comforting him for the past twenty minutes was shattered by the chirp of his phone and he flinches. 

 

It’s loud and makes his teeth itch in an instant. 

 

He drops the brush and pan he’d been using to sweep the doormat and strides over to turn the darn thing off but freezes with mild panic when he reads the caller ID.

 

He’s pressed the green button before he can reconsider it and brought it up to his ear.

 

“Bruce?”

 

“Alf…” 

 

Bruce chokes up on the line. Something Alfred hasn’t heard for a few years now. Something in the tone makes him move, like the day after the Wayne’s murders and Bruce had eventually surfaced from his bedroom still in tears at two in the afternoon, he leaves behind the pan and brush, leaves behind the neatly stacked mail that should have been dealt with by now, he fumbles for keys and wrenches open the door expecting to see a ten year old boy.

 

The cold air hits him first and he tumbles down the steep steps till his boots find freshly fallen leaves that crunch beneath them. He pauses and blinks in the rush and looks around confused before he recalls the lakehouse and phone still held to his ear he spots the caller standing in the window. 

 

“Why are you still here?” He heard himself demand like a parent would a child who was late for school. 

 

Bruce laughs, its choked and bitter but he laughs down the phone and Alfred feels awful when he replies. 

 

“I was waiting...for you”

  
  


* * *

 

  
  


Bruce watches as Alfred practically bolts out of the trailer door. He seemed surprised. 

 

He seemed to have forgotten there was a world outside the door and Bruce hated to think that if he hadn’t called Alfred might have never come out. 

 

He can’t fight down the fear and emotion in his voice when Alfred demands why he’s not at work. 

 

He’s scared. He always has been scared. 

 

He’s terrified he could lose Alfred and it would be his own fault for not holding on. The week had been rough, too much Batman not enough Bruce Wayne, too many arguments over propriety and one too many dark glares when Bruce made a comment as if he thought Alfred didn’t care. 

 

Bruce forgets Alfred’s human too. 

 

“Diana called” was the last thing he could get out before his throat closed up and he bit back tears determined to stop himself from feeling. 

 

He could literally feel Alfred’s eyes widen and the phone was cut off. 

 

He watches as the Butler stands staring at him before Alfred looks up at the ray of sun that casts down as the clouds moved aside in the light breeze. 

 

Alfred pockets the phone before casting a look back at the trailer. He couldn’t think of anything he needed more than Bruce needed him right now. 

 

So he shuts the door and finds his feet moving over the road, onto the path towards the lakehouse, it only occurs to him when he reaches out for the handle that he’s not fully dressed, he has no tie on, he has no jumper on either, nor braces or belt for that matter.

 

He stands there in just his shirt, trousers and boots and he feels a bit naked as Bruce turns from the window towards him. 

 

But he walks forward all the same, that shadowing ghost that had weighed on him earlier had somehow disappeared, not entirely but enough that he finally felt himself. 

 

Alfred shuts the door quietly and looks about at how nothing had moved but a coffee mug. Good. 

 

“Are you okay?” He asks clearing his throat at the end from how rough and dry his own voice sounded from misuse. 

 

“I’m fine” 

 

Hands on hips he levelled Bruce with a disbelieving look. 

 

“Of course you are ” he mutters before looking down at the empty coffee mug on the glass with no coaster and he hates how that bugs him too. 

 

“Bad night?” Bruce asks.

 

Alfred purses his lips and forces himself to look up slowly and not growl out an answer. 

 

“It’s just...it’s midday, Alfred.” The younger admits not wishing to upset him.

 

“I know what time it is.” He shoots back a little abruptly and instantly regrets it when Bruce steps back. 

 

“Why are you not at work, did you not say you had a meeting?” He forgets a second too late to add the formalities and finds that the air in the lake house was not really accommodating for it if he was honest. It would almost sound insulting. 

  
  


“Family crisis” 

 

Alfred now feels one hundred percent guilty at the fact Bruce was standing here because he’d been worried for Alfred’s health, not that he was avoiding his job. 

 

“Or at least that’s what Lucius eventually told them” 

 

Alfred sighs heavily and loudly enough to prove to Bruce that his last statement hadn’t made the Butler feel any better about this. 

 

“You scared me Alf, I can accept an hour or two, but when it’s four…something’s up-”

 

“It’s fine”

 

Bruce holds his tongue and doesn't mention the fact Alfred said ‘it’s’ not ‘I’m’, Alfred clearly feels he’s overstepping something and Bruce can physically hear the gates shutting around Alfred’s heart. 

 

“I’m sorry-I’ll...warn you next time” 

 

Bruce finds all he can do is nod before he steps closer to admire the Butler’s state of undress.

 

“You look better like this” 

 

Alfred turns from having a staring contest with the humming coffee filter, confused at the words and is surprised at the heated gaze Bruce is giving him. 

 

He hates the fact he can hear every breath the younger takes, that his tongue peaks out to lick his bottom lip, the way he plays with the phone in his hand almost nervously, the way his sea blue eyes reach his then drop back down shyly and Alfred really hates the fact he hasn’t missed the fact Bruce is blushing just a little. 

 

Hate had become an odd word. He hated how the vacuum cleaner sounded...but it wasn’t a hate like he hated the way Bruce stood in front of him now shy about his words like a teenager again. 

 

He hated it because he loved it. He loved every second.

 

Alfred reaches up to scratch at his chin considering what to say when he finds he even forgot to shave. God, did he do anything today but things he could have done tomorrow? 

 

His brain rattles at the thoughts of what else he should have actually done, but Bruce’s touch brings it all to a screeching stop as his thumb finds a tiny drop of tea that had clung to the stubble at the corner of his mouth. 

 

His brain is too messed up to think straight and he HATES it. 

 

His routine was in a shambles, he had no idea what to do next and why was it hot in here? 

 

Alfred gulps down the bile in his throat as he feels himself start to panic again because he can’t be sure anything is right at all and crumples when Bruce grabs his arm, promises to forgive himself later when the younger whispers an apology and kisses him. 

 

The air is stolen from his lungs in that second and suddenly all he can think about is Bruce. Bruce should really be the only thing here and he should be making his dinner, cleaning his clothes, caring for Bruce…

 

Caring...just a bit too much because he finds himself kissing the younger’s back and he can’t stop. 

 

It takes the feeling of rough bandages against his jaw to break the trance and he pulls back a little breathless to take Bruce’s bandaged hand in his own and frowns. “Your dressing needs changing”

 

In normal circumstances, he’d drag the man to a chair and grab the first aid kit and get to cleaning. But his feet feel like lead and he’s uncertain how he’s still standing when his legs feel like gelatin.

 

Meeting Bruce’s own bright blue eyes he suddenly wants to see what all those women see in him. Because honestly, he’s still looking at a ten-year-old boy who doesn’t understand why we don’t put dark colours in with whites in the wash. 

 

“Can it wait an hour?”

 

Bruce’s voice had dropped low, husky, inviting and Alfred blinks before nodding softly and finds himself pulled back in for another kiss. This time it's slower, wanting, meaningful and thrilling as his shirt buttons are opened, the material is thrown aside and finds his own hands running down Bruce’s bare sides in a minute as they stumble backwards into the billionaire’s bedroom. 

 

Bruce had been harbouring romantic feelings for him ever since he was a teenager. Alfred had never wished to confront him on the fact he knew Bruce had photos of him shirtless, or the fact he knew Bruce had stolen one of his old army tee’s, but late night drunk admissions were always hard to deny. 

 

He’d kissed Bruce before now, well, Bruce had kissed him. Once after a hectic mission where they’d both been left in shock from the fact Bruce had just escaped certain death and another time not long after Jason had arrived and they’d had what would honest to god have been their first real solid argument that left Alfred with a suitcase on his bed and Bruce threatening to fire him. 

 

He can no longer recall what they had been fighting over. But as the sun rose that next morning and cast over Alfred standing on the balcony preparing his goodbyes, Bruce had stumbled through his bedroom door to his knees begging him not to go. Left them clutching at each other and breathless from rushed kisses as Bruce cried for the first time in years saying he couldn’t live without him. 

 

Ever since, they tried hard to avoid emotional confrontations, mostly because Bruce would go on about not wanting to talk but also because Alfred knew. The Butler knew where it could lead them when they were both feeling so vulnerable and in need of physical comfort.

 

If this had been twenty years ago, Alfred would have backed away but now he couldn’t care less whether people considered him having sexual relations with the man he raised, wrong. Bruce needed him. He needed Bruce. 

 

If they were in this Batman facade together, then they might as bloody well be together in every other way. 

 

There was nothing too romantic about this, it was hurried and fumbled, desperate perhaps. 

 

Half dressed and drunk on each other as Bruce pressed him into the bed rutting into his thigh like a beast in heat.

 

Alfred considered removing his trousers completely but as Bruce nipped and grunted into his mouth, the less he could think about doing this properly and more about just getting off. 

 

The electric sparks of pleasure up his spine when hard hot skin met its twin slicked with precome, almost made him forget where he was. The only thing he could think of was how heavy Bruce felt and how badly he wanted this to help him forget that morning. 

 

The orgasm was nothing spectacular for either of them but it would be the first time in a long while Alfred had come from something other than his own hand and felt he had reason to blush at the mess they’d made when they finally got their brains back online to admire the streaks and stains. 

 

Laid on the bed half dressed, skin damp with sweat and just soaking in the calm and quiet of the lakehouse as Alfred watched the waters out of the huge window, Bruce traced the scar on Alfred’s arm. The gunshot wound from Jason. 

He had just as many now himself, every one he wore like a badge of honour and a statement to his goal, but he couldn’t think of one he was ashamed of. 

 

Alfred on the other hand probably had plenty of stories about them he never wished to speak about, ones that tormented him. They both had the scars but they had not been caused by the same swords. Even so, they both had been left with the same cause. 

 

He lets his gaze run down the man’s arms and frowns when he spots the seemingly new needle mark in the crook of Alfred’s elbow. Bruce reaches across to examine it but all of a sudden the radio in Bruce’s room starts up and Alfred snorts. “Your alarm is set for one in the afternoon?” He accuses playfully and Bruce smiles forgetting his goal.

 

“Bats are nocturnal” He shoots back kissing the man's shoulder before rolling to sit up on the edge of the bed. 

 

Silence falls again save for the soft bass of the song that fills the room. Bruce assumes it’s a dance track from recalling the artist but it’s a bit more RnB and he actually likes how it keeps the hovering emotional air in the room from turning toxic again. 

 

It’s early afternoon but it feels like six am and he’s bone-deep exhausted, his stomach growls but he’s not sure if he can handle a proper meal.

 

“I really should make your lunch” Alfred sighs after a minute, his monotone growl giving away just how tired he felt as well. 

 

“Doesn’t feel like lunchtime” Bruce admits standing to pull up his trousers and pick up the discarded shirts. 

 

Alfred watches him before sitting up himself. The pill bottle in his pocket falls off the bed and rattles loudly, making them both pause. 

 

Bruce steps around the bed to pick it up and frowns. “You take these yet?”

 

Alfred swallows and glances down at the bed thinking. Had he? 

 

“I can’t remember” He admits, his hands shaking and Bruce sighs pocketing them himself. “I’ll go and get the rest of your clothes, spare shaver’s in the cabinet” Bruce offers gently setting the shirt on the bed and Alfred nods knowing full well the younger was telling him to start again. 

 

Routine. 

 

So he shaves, he dresses, he meets Bruce in the kitchen and they sit at the island counter with the newspapers open, eating fried eggs and a mountain of hot buttered toast because Bruce wanted simple and Alfred’s comfort food was toast. 

 

It takes four cups of tea and an article about a drug raid for Bruce to recall the pills, he counts them and sets the dose on the counter by Alfred’s plate, when he finds Alfred had not taken them.

 

The Butler looks up from the paper, his gaze darkening when he sees them and he glares at Bruce who is in no mood to fight about it. He says nothing but gives him his own dark and no excuses look before standing and fetching the TV remote. 

 

Looking back down at the article they’d mentioned Alfred huffs recalling the night before and feels guilty that he was still victim to a bad habit. 

 

He knew he should tell the billionaire he needed help, he should have the balls to ask his doctors for something to cope but that’s not how he was trained. He wasn’t trained to talk, he was trained to kill on order and carry that burden.

 

It’s nearing four before the phone rings again and Alfred somehow finds the energy to stand from the plush sofa beside Bruce and answer it. 

 

“Door’s locked” 

 

Alfred opens his mouth but snaps it shut again at the sound of Miss Prince and finds himself stuttering for a moment before apologising and making for the office to unlock the Batcave doors.

 

Hanging up the phone as he types in the entrance code, he turns from the keypad to see Diana step out from behind the bookcase with a box and a small suitcase.

 

He’s about to ask what she has when the smell of food hits him and he smiles. Dear god, he can't help his smile when she smiles back. 

 

“Thought since I’m dropping in to check on my boys I’d bring you dinner, from Bruce’s text I felt you needed something full of grease and calories, I even stopped at the local and grabbed Ben and Jerry’s.” She giggles as the Butler takes the cardboard box filled with tubs and foam containers of Chinese food. It was from Bruce’s favourite place as well. 

 

Bruce isn’t surprised to see Diana when he looks over the back of the sofa to them exiting the office. But he is surprised at the sight and smell of Chinese food and his eyes go wide like a child who’s just been granted chocolate at the box Alfred is carrying. 

 

Diets be damned. 

 

Bruce takes her coat, puts her bags in the guest room while she goes to grab the bottle opener for the non-alcoholic cider she’s brought too and Alfred can’t stop internally thanking the Gods that there’s a sane woman in his life. 

 

He’s left alone to set the placemats, the cutlery, the plates, the candles, to open the containers and set it all out just as he likes and he’s grateful they both understand what is his domain. What comforts him. 

 

He’s just setting down the bowl of prawn crackers when he finds that he feels in limbo. It’s an awkward feeling because he knows it’s not right. It feels like he’s on the edge of something frightening and he hates it. 

But whatever edge it is he finds, he’s not facing it. He just climbed out of that black and now he’s surrounded by nothing but grey. 

 

He sits, he eats, he laughs, he’s smiling around a mouthful of noodles as Diana talks about her recent art piece, Bruce recalls Dick’s antics, Alfred recall’s Bruce’s in return and he finds he’s never felt this much like the boy’s father when the younger groans and complains ‘Don’t tell her that...she’ll tell Clark and I’ll never live it down’.

 

It almost seemed normal. Almost. Because Alfred hated fast food, he preferred to cook. Bruce was on a high protein diet and counted calories, right now he was eating spare ribs and loving every second of it by the look on his face uncaring for the fat or grease. 

 

Diana clearly didn’t mind fast food but she did have far more vegetables in her dishes than either of them. 

 

He’s dunking chips in OK sauce and licking it off his fingers and it makes him feel better. 

 

The in normality makes it all better. Because normal is boring, normal was Bruce brooding, him cleaning, cold nights and a tumbler of whiskey. 

 

Tonight he was surrounded by friends, people that were practically family and dear lord could Miss Prince be any more the goddess? 

 

Maybe he was crushing on her? 

 

Or maybe he was just that lonely.

 

* * *

 

 

It’s growing late and as she’s sat out on the decking on the phone, Diana finds a raised voice break the peaceful and safe lull that had fallen over the lakehouse. 

 

She turns concerned to see Bruce through the window, standing in the living space holding a syringe and Alfred looks furious, he looks like he's about to jump and she apologises and hangs up instantly knowing she had to break up this fight before either did something they’d regret.

 

“Alf, you need-”

 

“I DON’T NEED ANYTHING”

 

He wasn’t actually mad, he was just ashamed and growing more concerned as to what else Bruce had found. The man had ruined the peace by letting his insecurity get the best of him and had for the first time in his life, invaded Alfred’s trailer. 

 

He’s nodded off on the sofa in front of the TV after dinner, knowing Diana was capable of not letting Bruce burn the place down making coffee only to be woken by Bruce standing there accusingly and demanding as he held the evidence of Alfred’s night. 

 

In seconds it all comes back and his head is spinning, he’s shouting for no reason because he’s panicking and stumbling back away from the thing in the younger’s hand like it was a live snake. 

 

“What the hell did you do?” Diana hisses as she storms in to look at the item Bruce was holding. 

 

“I-I wanted him to stay here tonight so I went back to his trailer, to get his clothes and found this in the bin in the bedroom and it’s not alone, there’s nine in there” Bruce sighs his voice cracking in upset.

 

Diana momentarily loses her anger and reads the label. Morphine. 

 

She looks between Bruce and Alfred before taking the syringe and tossing it in the kitchen trash with a huff. 

 

She gestures Bruce to sit down and he does without a word like an admonished child. Alfred blinks and takes a second to wish he’d been able to control the boy like that.

 

When he meets Diana’s eyes his legs give up and he falls to his knees with a thump as she approaches, crouching down to hold him up, she turns his face to look at her and the pity in her eyes tears at him. 

 

She says something to him, something he wished could be comforting as she hauls him to his feet and leads him into Bruce’s bedroom, sits him on the bed, telling him she would be right back and leaves again. He sits looking at the closed door feeling like a child having been put on a timeout.

 

Bruce is playing with his phone unsure what to say. 

 

“Who can you call?” Diana asks as she strides back into the room.

 

The question hangs in the air and Bruce thinks quickly. “Two doctors I know are on call…”

 

Diana considers it then shakes her head. “It won’t help unless he's willing to talk…he needs something to stabilize this until we can get him to”

 

Bruce sighs and stands. “Pharmaceuticals is open twenty-four seven, I’ll go rush order something, they should know what to give him since they specialize in veteran care” 

 

He takes his coat and leaves determined without another word and Diana puts the kettle on. Spotting the brown plastic container she reads the label and can’t help the sigh that escapes, she pockets the pill and pill bottle on the side.

 

She enters the bedroom to find Alfred stand by the window, well, more leaning on it, he looks so lost it’s heartbreaking. Setting the tea down she sits on the bed facing him and waits. 

 

The autumn sun is setting by the time he speaks up. “He won’t shut up”

 

Diana cocks her head awaiting an explanation. 

 

“Tom, I can hear him in my head...judging, cursing, begging” He pushes from the window and drops heavily beside her. “Telling me to talk”

 

Her hand finds his thigh and he feels silly for finding comfort in her touch. “Was it making it stop?” She asks quietly wondering whether Alfred was abusing drugs again because he was genuinely in pain or it was making him think he was.

 

“No...yes, sometimes, guess it depends on the night we have” he huffs sounding utterly done.

 

“Do you see this as a problem?” She asks after a moment and he stands to pace to the bathroom door, hand ruffling his hair in stress and snarls.

 

“No...I’m-it’s-I feel like I’m losing my mind” he’s choking up because in all honesty, it was never going to be fine. 

 

She stands and stops in front of him. “You can’t always be his rock Alfred, not everyone can be like Clark, not everyone can take a hit and not bleed, he still hurts, he still has feelings and that’s fine, that’s perfectly acceptable and everyone is entitled to have a bad day or a bad week and need something or someone to make them feel human again”

 

Fuck he’s crying. 

 

“Bruce just wants to protect you, he wants to be there just like Thomas had been the first time but if you don’t let him see that it’s okay to need help, how will he change? You’ve said before he’s emotionally constipated at times and you know better than I do, this sort of behaviour helps no one” 

 

She not really telling him off, she’s not even mad, she’s just being truthful and god it fucking hurts. 

 

“He-He doesn’t need to protect me Diana, I-I’m supposed to-” 

She reaches out to stop the hand he’s waving about and he tugs it back but she’s far too strong and it takes no effort on her part to restrain his hands when he tries to push her off him when she backs him to the wall. 

 

“Alfred...you have done your job, he’s a grown man, as much as he rarely acts like it, Bruce can actually look after himself, he knows his own fuck-ups and by now should be cleaning them up himself, you have to stop thinking that he’ll fall to pieces if you do...everyone has a bad day…”

 

He struggles again and she pushes off all his attempts to get away even blocking a weak attempt at a punch.

 

“This-he is all I know, it’s all I want to be doing, I do not WANT nor do I NEED doctors...I-I-I need my routine”

 

His eyes are begging her to understand what the hell that means and a small part of her does, but Alfred was the biggest iceberg she’d ever met and she knew Bruce Wayne. 

 

Standing here she saw the tip, she saw his layers, she saw his facade, saw his attractiveness, she saw his strength but she knew should she try and burn down the gates around his heart, drain the sea around the ice she’d find he’s so much more, he’d be far more dangerous and she wondered if that is what he feared, showing Bruce just how deep the wounds went. 

 

Something in the last few years had upset Alfred’s routine that he was abusing and that was the issue. She let her mind wander to Jason...

 

He needed something new, something more to concentrate on and she could understand why he’d been so wanting of Bruce to have a family. Kids took a lot of time, grandkids would give Alfred solid reason to get out of bed and she suddenly wanted to shove Bruce about a bit for not seeing this. 

 

But it wasn’t Bruce’s fault he was so frightened of settling down. No, that fault had been on a gunman in an alley thirty years ago.

 

“Dusk till Dawn Diana, I promised him…”

 

She looks back up from admiring his hands to find he’s looking out of the windows again. 

 

“I promised him, I’d never leave-”

 

“You’re right here”

 

“Am I?” He asks looking at her and she doesn’t hesitate to let go of his hands to bring her hands up to his face. 

 

“Alfred...you’re right here...you’re not going anywhere and neither will we” 

 

She suddenly finds herself being kissed and is just a little shy to admit she enjoys it too much, he tastes like Chinese and wine and tobacco and its just a little bit addictive. 

 

They’re laughing in embarrassment when they break apart breathless and lusting but both of them seem to find it’s not the time to be fucking, not yet, the friends with benefits was yet to be agreed on. 

 

With a quick look out of the window she takes his hand and guides him outside onto the decking, he sits quietly while she sets up the table with the cider and ice cream and he frowns. 

 

Breaking open the peanut butter cup pot she hands it to him and he raises an eyebrow. 

 

“We’re waiting for Bruce” she mutters around a mouthful of fudge brownie. 

 

“Where's he gone?” He asks looking about as if he’d just reappear. 

 

“To see a friend” she replies not wanting to spoil the calm again by mentioning doctors.

 

He frowns down at the ice cream again like it’s mocking him and she wonders if he feels like she’s not taking this seriously, she pauses wondering how to explain what she was doing.

 

“How did you know this was my favourite?” he asks after a second and she sighs in relief. 

 

“I asked Bruce” she giggles. “I’m not that much of a mind reader”

 

At that Alfred digs in, seemingly happy to drop the conversation in exchange for peanut butter flavoured ice cream although she could tell he was thinking about what had just happened.

 

Bruce returns with a brown paper bag and booklets just as the sun starts to completely fade, looking a bit happier than when he left. 

 

He sits down with them and comments that he’d not eaten phish food since he was about fifteen and it was his birthday. 

 

They sit in silence for a bit as it grows dark and Alfred eventually stops eating and sighs. 

 

“I’m sorry, I should have said something”

 

Bruce and Diana side glance to each other and Bruce shrugs. “I should have asked”

 

“I would have lied” Alfred admits and Diana smiles.

 

“Are you going to now?” She asks and he stabs the ice cream with his spoon in thought before looking at Bruce who looks worried again. 

 

_ “You can’t keep lying to yourself like this, even if it’s under the rug Alf, does it mean it’s gone?” _

 

“No” He isn’t sure whether he just answered Diana or Tom but either way the answer was the same. 

 

Bruce picks up the brown bag and pulls out a new set of prescription pills.

 

Alfred eyes them warily. “What are they?”

 

“Antidepressants, new strain we’ve been working on, they’ve only just passed tests so they’re not on the market, but the Pharmacy guys have cleared you for them” 

 

Alfred picks up the bottle as Diana sets down the other one and he looks between them wondering whether his old stigma on meds was just getting back at him. He didn’t actually know that not having taken these had made him feel like this?

 

Was it just withdrawals from the morphine? 

 

Going back to his ice cream they go back to letting Alfred decide by himself and they sit quietly enjoying the warm night air. Tea is made and Bruce’s hand is bandaged finally before Alfred gives in and snatches up the pills. 

 

He hands Bruce a painkiller but the vigilante just gives him a funny look. 

 

“You gonna take yours?”

 

The question is perfectly innocent and Alfred suddenly sees what Diana had meant again about behaviour. Ignoring his own medication would make Bruce think he didn’t need it either. 

 

So as he sat back down he picks up the little white tablet and the blue one and looks between Bruce and Diana. Whether it is for encouragement or a reason not to take them he isn’t sure. 

But eventually he sighs and as Tom’s voice floats through his mind again he bites back on the bitter taste they leave behind. 

 

_ “Maybe one day you won’t need them...and even if that never comes, that’s fine, needing help isn’t the end of the world Alf”  _

 

Bruce takes the painkiller. 

 

Diana opens another carton of ice cream and pours her coffee over it making them both pull a face.

 

“What? We all have different ways...” She admonishes the looks and Bruce looks to Alfred and shrugs. 

 

“You need each other and I need Ben and Jerry” 

 

They laugh. 

 

Maybe they weren’t all so different after all. Maybe black wasn’t on everything just because it helped hide Bruce at night. 

 

Maybe, things were allowed to be grey sometimes. 

Maybe even, Kryptonians and Amazonians could feel like shit. 

 

Bruce puts his arm around Alfred on the deck they admire the moonlight casting over the grounds. 

 

Maybe not everything had to be okay.

 

Not everyone had everything go perfectly. 

 

Not everyone felt fine. 

 

As Alfred picks up the cup of tea Diana had brought with her and Bruce’s coffee, he looks down at the perfect still of the golden liquid and smiles.

 

Maybe it had just been one of those days. 

 

Things hadn’t been okay, he hadn’t been okay.

But he had someone to help him be okay.

 

 

And that…   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

was just fine. 

  
  



End file.
